


blood and bones

by clovenhooves



Series: exploits [1]
Category: The Centricide (Webseries)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, FaceFucking, Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, Not Beta Read, Other, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Slurs, Transphobia, ancom is still nb but this is more or less from nazi's perspective so he misgenders qim quite a bit, degredation, idk if this is ooc or not but eyy, pure filth man i stg, repressed nazi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:13:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26103997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clovenhooves/pseuds/clovenhooves
Summary: Nazi was going insane.Completely and utterly insane.---Nazi teaches Ancom a lesson.
Relationships: Nazi/Ancom, opposite unity - Relationship
Series: exploits [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1947619
Comments: 10
Kudos: 112





	blood and bones

**Author's Note:**

> this was a gift for a dear friend on discord. you know who you are :)

Nazi was going insane. 

Completely and utterly insane. 

And it was all the fault of that - that _thing_ he had been forced to live with for the past few...god, how long had it even been? _Months?_ Ever since this bullshit “Centricide” truce at the very least. Though it’s felt like an eternity - and that’s coming from an ideology who’s been walking the earth since the 1920s. Nazi knew how to be patient. He was a man who was very much used to growing stronger in the shadows, someone who knew when and how to strike at the most opportune moment for success. 

And yet, somehow just a handful of weeks of living with the abomination known as Anarcho-Communism has reduced him from mighty figurehead of white nationalism to a sniveling coward who didn’t even have the balls to execute the degenerate on the spot right then and there. It would be so _easy_ , too, to eliminate him and everyone else in that cursed goddamn house; a _Nacht der langen Messer_ of the modern day. 

And yet...he didn’t. Something held him back. Something that made his hands falter ever so slightly when reaching for his pistol, something that made beads of nervous sweat coalesce upon his furrowed brow. Was it fear, perhaps at what wrath the forlorn followers of these ideologies would inflict upon him at the sight of their gods’ dead and broken bodies? Or maybe was it out of a begrudging respect for, at the very least, the leftist authoritarian that kept a watchful eye over the anarchist? Commie was often a much-needed ally in the house, especially when it came to matters of planning and organization. The anarchists were no help at all in that regard, and besides, he and Commie had history. They’d worked fine enough together in the past, and while he found the leftist’s social views pathetic, he respected the other man’s strength. Commie was a man with _character_. 

Ancom had no character. Ancom was a lazy and disgusting pest that did nothing but leave empty fast food wrappers on the ground and an ever-pervasive smell of cannabis in the air. Nazi had no clue at all what Commie saw in the anarchist, but disgust boiled in his gut every time he saw the two together, Commie towering over the other, eyes soft. 

And it seemed that as soon as Ancom realized that Nazi was next to powerless to do anything to him - in the house, at least - he made it his life’s goal to make Nazi’s existence living there absolutely miserable. 

It started off with small but ultimately tolerable annoyances, such as his constant drug use in the home or the occasional attempt to ambush Nazi with a baseball bat over not calling him a _qiquem_ or whatever the fuck. He grew bolder over the days, sometimes going as far as to wear a fucking _skirt_ around the house like the sick tranny bastard he was. He seemed to get quite the kick out of Nazi’s look of complete disgust the first time he came across him in such a state, and thus made a point of wearing a skirt every chance he got.

It was obscene. He had no idea how both Commie and Ancap could just _accept_ this pure display of sexual deviancy without batting an eye (well, maybe he had an idea about Ancap. He was charging Ancom for the rent after all, and money always shut that Jew bastard up.) The anarchist was not only completely unashamed of himself but forcing everyone else to participate in his repulsive fetish while he was at it. 

Nazi reflects upon this as he stands in the living room, bending over to pick up yet another discarded package of Doritos. As he lowers his body he catches the faint whiff of bong water soaked into the carpet - a smell he’s become sickeningly familiar with. He grimaces, walking over to a trash can to throw away the garbage before quickly wiping his hand off on his dress pants. How demeaning. This was women’s work. But, the house had no women - and seeing as he was seemingly the only man that cared even the slightest bit about presentation and cleanliness, either he had to do it or it wouldn’t be done at all. 

A flash of green catches the corner of his eye, and he turns to see Ancom stomping into the room, each step of his combat boots making the floor creak obnoxiously. Today he wears an olive green skirt, knee-length, short enough to expose a flash of pale skin before it disappears under socks with some ugly purple, yellow, black, and white pattern woven into them. Nazi’s eyes are naturally drawn there, of course - the skirt tricking his brain into a hopeful glimpse of femininity only to be met with Ancom’s skinny shaven legs. 

His face burns red, shameful, before his eyes flick upwards to meet the anarchist’s. He does nothing to hide his hateful glare, Ancom’s shit-eating grin causing him to grind his teeth together in frustration. He gets a flash of memory - 1933, watching flames rise higher and higher into the air as his men gleefully threw books into the fire, every cinder representing another deviant work of literature destroyed forever as the archives to the _Institut für Sexualwissenschaft_ were burned into nothing. If only that had stopped _this._

He looks at the trash can again, then back to Ancom. _Women’s work._ What was Ancom even trying to _do_ , for fuck’s sake? His claims about “rejecting the gender binary” and “deconstructing gender roles” seemed to mean that he had all the obnoxious traits of both a fat hairy feminist and a useless unemployed college student with nothing positive to make up for it. If anyone in this house should be doing this sort of menial bullshit, it should be _him_. 

Ancom desperately needed to be put into place. 

Nazi thinks for a moment as Ancom makes his way across the room, none the wiser to Nazi’s thoughts, and then, finally, speaks: 

“Hey, Ancom...is Commie around, by any chance?” 

Ancom plops onto the couch, sprawling out until he takes up nearly half the damn thing. “Oh, he’s at some tankie meeting. Probably one of his stupid book clubs. Hey, do you know where the TV remote went?” 

Nazi ignores the question, taking a step closer. “What about Ancap? I don’t think I’ve seen him around today either.” 

Ancom frowns, annoyed, reaching a hand into the crevice between the cushion he sits on and the couch’s armrest. A few moments later he brings his arm up again, remote clasped in his bony fingers - victorious. “Uh, _thanks_. Anyway...I’ve got no fucking clue, dude, he’s probably in Ancapistan or something. Haven’t seen him either.” 

Excellent. Nazi steps one step closer, then another, until he stands in front of Ancom, blocking his view of the TV. 

Ancom slowly moves his head to the side, trying to see past Nazi. Nazi simply sidesteps, blocking him again. 

“What the fuck, man?” Ancom asks, sitting up straight. Nazi looks down at him, lips pursed into a thin line barely concealing his excitement. Now was the perfect opportunity to give the bastard a lesson. He couldn’t _kill_ him, of course, but at the very least he could rough him up enough for him to understand why authoritarians such as himself were to be respected. 

Quickly, Nazi leans forward and grabs a fistful of Ancom’s hoodie, pulling him forward with a hard yank. Ancom sputters, thin limbs flailing to support himself, but ultimately lands face-first onto the carpet. 

“What the fuck is your probl- _hnn_ -” Ancom starts to protest before the air is knocked out of him. He feels the stiff outline of Nazi’s boot press into his back. He tries to get up, arms scrunching up underneath his body in an attempt to lift himself off the ground before Nazi presses down harder, keeping him pinned. 

Nazi reaches down and grabs one of the gaudy sewn-on animal ears and pulls down Ancom’s hood. He steps back, but before Ancom has a chance to free himself he grabs ahold of the anarchist’s curly brown hair and yanks his head upwards. 

“Get on your fucking knees,” Nazi commands, and, slowly, Ancom complies. Nazi watches as Ancom straightens his spine, the leftist’s head quirked to one side in confusion, then notices in offended anger that Ancom’s _legs are spread_ , opening up his skirt so that the rightest was treated to a flash of his _underwear_. 

Nazi stares before kicking hard against the side of Ancom’s leg, and the anarchist seems to get the message, snapping his legs shut. Nazi looks at him for a moment, then reaches down to pull off the mask still obscuring the bottom half of Ancom’s face. Nazi takes a moment to observe the scene before him: the infuriating anarchist on his knees, following every word that comes out of Nazi’s mouth (surely out of fear, without the bastard Red to protect him), head ducked down to hide the flush of red quickly spreading through his cheeks. Nazi smiles - how humiliating! The anarchist was clearly ashamed of himself, as he should be. 

“And put your hands behind your back,” Nazi quickly adds, stepping just a little bit closer. He couldn’t tell if Ancom had stashed any weapons in his hoodie, so it was better to be safe than sorry. Last thing he needed was for the fucker to come at him with a switchblade as he was beating the shit out of him. 

Ancom tilts his head up, looking at Nazi. “Uh...wow. I have to say, you’re the last person I would’ve expected to do this.” 

Nazi balks. “Wh- In _this_ house? When the only other two people in here are a fucking _revolutionary communist_ and a pathetic excuse for a greedy Jew? I should’ve been at the _top_ of your list.” What sort of absurd statement was that? He’d seen Commie and Ancom get into enough scuffles on their own, sure, but there was no way that Ancom didn’t know this was coming to him at some point or another. Nazi had been dying to give the anarchist a taste of his own medicine ever since he moved in, and everyone in the house knew it. God, all the things he could do to him in this state - he lets his mind wander, thinking of knocking in his weak little ribcage with a hard kick of his steel-toed boots, or giving him two matching black eyes with a few full-force punches to the face. He thinks of a scene from one of his favorite movies, where a man forces a dirty thug to open his mouth on the curb before stomping his head in. Just the thought of splitting open Ancom’s head sends a thrill through him. It makes him smile, devious, before the feeling of something touching him rouses him from his fantasy. 

He looks down, and it’s-

_It’s Ancom reaching for his belt what the fuck what the fuck_

“I’ve never been with a _fascist_ before,” Ancom mutters, undoing the loop. The sound of metal clanking against metal echoes through the room - suddenly everything is quiet, quiet enough for Nazi to hear his heartbeat pounding in his head. “But I doubt you’ll be that much different from any other repressed conservative.” He looks up at Nazi, eyes wide, and something in Nazi’s stomach _lurches_ as he watches Ancom’s pink tongue flick out to wet his lips. 

It takes a moment for Nazi to fully process what’s happening before he shoves Ancom backwards with shaking hands. “Get the fuck _off_ me faggot!” His voice is hoarse, embarrassing. 

Ancom falls backwards against the couch before sitting up on his knees again, shaking his head in confusion. “What the fuck is your deal? You’re sending me a _lot_ of mixed signals.” 

“What the fuck is _your_ deal?” Nazi sputters, stepping backwards until he feels his back slam against the opposite wall. His hands drop to his waist to fix his belt. “I- I came in here to kick your fucking teeth in and you start acting like some...some kind of _street whore_!” 

Ancom blinks, and then widens his eyes in sudden understanding before breaking out in insulting peals of laughter. “Oh- oh my _g_ _od_ , you really _are_ fucking clueless.” 

“What- what are you talking about?” Nazi asks. He feels like he’s about to faint - he was almost jumped by a faggot in his own _home_ , for fuck’s sake. 

Ancom smirks. “Dude, you were totally coming on to me. I mean- _‘get on your fucking knees,’_ are you nuts?” He laughs again, shaking his head. “What are you, some kind of virgin?” 

Nazi’s mouth drops open on impulse before he clamps it shut, averting his gaze. God, this was a fucking disaster. He could already imagine Ancom retelling the story of what happened to his fellow degenerate buddies. He starts for the doorway, hearing Ancom’s voice pipe up again. 

“Wait- _are you_?” 

When Nazi doesn’t answer Ancom gets back to his feet, and with every clamoring step of his boots echoing through the room Nazi only quickens his pace. 

“Nazi, _oh my god_ , it’s not even a big deal. What are you, straight? You’re a well-dressed asshole white guy, I’m sure plenty of women would be all over that.” He pauses. “Unless you’re gay.” 

Nazi stops in his tracks. “I’m not.” 

“There’s nothing wrong with being gay. Wasn’t one of your fashy officers gay?” 

“Ernst Röhm was a political traitor and a disgrace to the white race,” Nazi mutters under his breath. “It’s their- it’s _our_ duty as Aryan men to reproduce. The future we’re building is not only for my people, but for all the white children to come. Sodomy only harms the morale of strong men.” 

“Got any other lines from 8chan?” 

Nazi hunches his shoulders. He doesn’t reply. 

“Nazi.” 

Nazi wants to run. He feels the urge to crash through the nearest window if he has to. 

“Look at me.” 

Nazi turns around. 

And Ancom - who had snuck up behind him, somehow managing to be quiet as a cat as Nazi stewed in his thoughts - props himself up on his tip-toes, grabs Nazi’s dress shirt, and pulls him forward into a kiss. 

Nazi’s brain short-circuits as he feels his lips crash against Ancom’s. It’s messy, inarticulate - Ancom moves his lips against the authoritarian’s, eager, while Nazi stays as still and stiff as a corpse. A few moments of that and Nazi shoves him away again, weaker this time. He feels sick. 

And Ancom is just _staring_ at him, looking at him with that impenetrable smug fucking gaze, those lips curled upwards in a sly grin, rocking back and forth on his feet, so fucking _cocky_ and _challenging_ and oh-so fucking _degenerate_ \- 

Nazi can’t help himself. His anger boils over, and he rushes forward and pushes Ancom against the nearest wall, feeling a glimmer of satisfaction as the anarchist lands with a heavy _thump_. Icy blue eyes meet lime green. Even though Ancom is older than him by a few decades, he still comes up a few inches shorter than the rightist, much to Nazi’s pleasure. Being the smallest of the extremists would’ve been yet another heavy blow to his ego. 

“You _disgust_ me. You’re a traitor to your own race. Even the people you’re supposed to represent would be disgusted by you - you really think Makhno would accept a skirt-wearing fag in the Black Army? You think Kropotkin would’ve looked at you for more than two seconds without bursting into disbelieving laughter?” 

Ancom squirms against Nazi’s grip before shoving a knee between his legs. “I fought alongside the Makhnovists, you stupid fascist.” Before Nazi can react, Ancom begins to grind his knee into Nazi’s crotch, creating an uncomfortable pressure that makes the authoritarian flush. “And I’m the _embodiment_ of Kropotkin’s work. Do you _really_ think Hitler would be proud to call you his modern-day representative? At the end of the day I think you know we would’ve ended up in the same place.” 

Nazi’s breath catches up in his throat, and yet he doesn’t move from his spot. 

The ideologies were the gods of the modern age - the embodiment of a people’s wishes, hopes, and desires given flesh and blood. These forms on Earth were still _human_ , albeit perhaps a bit stronger and dubiously immortal compared to the average man - if you cut them, they bled. If you killed them, they stayed dead. And if you touched them-

Ancom continues to move his leg, and Nazi is powerless to stop the reactions of his treacherous body. He begins to feel an erection straining against his pants. 

Nazi swallows hard, and looks down at Ancom. Truly he wonders why the anarchist bothers with the stupid bandana. Ancom has a soft, round face, not yet marred with scars like his authoritarian counterpart. His lashes are long, drawing attention to his striking green eyes under those fluttering eyelids. With his body covered by that baggy hoodie and that captivating skirt, he looked so...feminine. For a moment, the anarchist’s gender confusion made sense. Nazi feels a ball of tension begin to wind in his stomach. It has been so long since he felt the touch of a woman. 

“Unlike you fash scum, I believe in consent,” Ancom murmurs. His movements begin to slow, and it takes every ounce of power left in Nazi for him to hold back the most pathetic of whines. “If you want to stop this, tell me right now.” 

Nazi is silent. He simply watches. His gaze is difficult to read. Ancom decides to test the waters. “And...if you want to keep going, you have to tell me.” 

When Nazi refuses to give any affirmation, Ancom shrugs and lowers his leg. Nazi’s grip had weakened in the past few moments, allowing Ancom to wriggle free and start walking away. “Well, that’s it then. Oh well.” 

It’s like Nazi watches himself from the third person - as though the person who turns on his heel and grabs the anarchist by the shoulder before slamming him against the wall again isn’t _him_ , but some other white nationalist instead. Maybe Homofash. It was easier to see it that way. 

“You’re going to let me use you or I swear to fucking dead God I’m going to put a bullet through your skull,” he huffs. The smile that once again breaks across Ancom’s face only adds to his rage. He regrets ripping the anarchist’s mask off, now. It was better when he couldn’t see Ancom’s treacherous lips. His brain decides to treat him to the image of Ancom on his knees, undoing his belt, and suddenly he thinks of a way he’d rather shut Ancom up. He feels his cock twitch in his pants. 

“Ooo, kinky. Not very ‘family values’ of you, huh?” Ancom quips, and Nazi grits his teeth, pushing Ancom back to his knees. 

“Shut the fuck up,” he mutters, and Ancom humors him, hands creeping back up to his belt. This time Nazi watches him undo it with baited breath, the anarchist’s thin fingers quick to follow by unbuttoning his pants and bringing down the zipper with agonizing slowness. Even though Nazi would never admit it, it’s sending a thrill through him to watch the anarchist seemingly so eager to get to pleasing him. Just went to show that the leftists had no values beyond pure hedonism. 

Ancom slides down Nazi’s pants, leaving him standing in his boxers with his cock now painfully straining against the rough fabric. Ancom hooks his fingers under the waistband before looking up one last time at Nazi, wordlessly asking for permission, and Nazi nods, breathless. 

Ancom pulls down the last boundary of fabric in one swift motion, and Nazi’s cock springs up, desperate for contact. Ancom takes a moment to take it in before giggling. 

“Guess asking you guys to post your hog finally led to something,” he mutters. 

“Wh-What? What does that mean?” 

Ancom just smiles. “Inside joke. Don’t worry about it.” 

Before Nazi can probe further he feels Ancom’s tongue make contact with his shaft and he’s pretty sure his soul leaves his body right then and there. 

Nazi’s hands scramble for something to hold onto. He feels like he’s about to faint and Ancom’s barely done anything yet. One hand leans against the wall as the other goes to ruffle through Ancom’s hair, holding his head to his crotch like his life depends on it. He only has enough courage to look down at what’s happening for a single moment, and when he makes eye contact with Ancom right as he’s sliding his tongue up the length of his erection he’s quick to avert his gaze to the ceiling. 

He feels Ancom smile against him before the tip of his cock is enveloped by the warmth of the leftist’s mouth. Nazi can’t help it; his hips jerk forward involuntarily, and Ancom’s head thumps against the wall. He doesn’t seem to mind, taking a few more inches of Nazi’s length with a high-pitched whimper that makes goosebumps spread across Nazi’s clammy skin. _“Fuck.”_

Ancom waits to see if Nazi is going to move again before going to work, bobbing his head to take in more and more of the authoritarian’s cock. Nazi groans as he hears the lewd wet sounds of Ancom’s mouth working him filling the air, his grip on the leftist’s hair moving to the back of his head to hold him in place as his hips begin to roll forward again, now meeting Ancom halfway. Nazi’s mind is somehow racing and completely blank at the same time. He looks down again - the top of Ancom’s head, his swollen lips, the skirt billowing around his legs. _He’s basically a girl. He’s basically a girl. That makes it okay. It’s okay._ His eyes screw themselves shut to block out everything except this, this feeling. That’s all that matters in this moment, nothing but those horrible sounds of lips smacking against skin and the spring of red hot pleasure coiling tighter and tighter in his belly. 

He feels Ancom move his head back, letting Nazi’s cock free with an audible _pop_. Nazi looks down, watching as Ancom licks his lips, looking up at him with glassy half-lidded eyes. 

“You’re lucky that you’re cute,” he whispers. His pupils are blown huge as he looks down at Nazi’s cock, slicked with the leftist’s saliva. “And that Commie’s been cockblocking me for weeks. Otherwise I don’t know if I would’ve been desperate enough to do this.” He gives the tip of Nazi’s length a painfully slow lick. “This is kinda hot, though. Isn’t it? Defiling your _perfect Aryan cock_ with my dirty fag mouth.” It’s clear that he’s joking, and yet his words send another jolt of pleasure through the authoritarian. With a shaking hand he grips Ancom’s hair again, forcing him to look back up at Nazi. He’s tempted, _so tempted_ , to tell Ancom to shut up, to go back to just sucking him off - it’s what his last shred of dignity wants him to do. 

But instead he gulps, eyes closed, and tells him to _keep talking like that_. 

Ancom laughs. “Jesus, you really _are_ repressed.” His hands move from Nazi’s hips to grip the base of the nationalist’s cock, slowly beginning to apply pressure. Nazi leans his head against the wall, shoulders shaking. Ancom smiles up at him, and continues. “Yeah...you like that? You like it when I remind you that it’s _my_ degenerate tranny hands that are touching you? That you’re losing your virginity to someone with a _penis_? That your entire ideological fanbase would _lynch you_ if they saw what you were doing right now, what you were getting off to?” 

_Yes_ , Nazi thinks, burning with shame. _Yes. All of it. I like it. I like_ this. 

Ancom’s hands start moving faster, hands twisting around the base before beginning to slide up and down, his spit acting as lube. “Pathetic fascist scum. You act like you’re all high and mighty when I know you dream about this. About fucking my mouth, or maybe my tight little ass. You dream of fucking a little degenerate commie like me, it gets you off because you want to leave me an exhausted cum-soaked mess. It’s the ultimate act of domination. You think I don’t know how many Nazis just like you get off to this shit? How much weird fucked-up racist porn I’ve stumbled across?” 

Nazi shudders. He waits until Ancom’s mouth is wrapped around his dick again before gripping the sides of the anarchist’s head with both hands. He begins to fuck the leftist’s face in earnest, grunting with the effort as he plunges his cock deeper and deeper into Ancom’s mouth with each thrust. Ancom is clearly taken aback by the action - he hums a surprised groan around Nazi’s cock, the vibrations only adding to the authoritarian’s pleasure, but adjusts easily enough, hollowing out his cheeks so that Nazi can bottom out in his mouth. In the back of Nazi’s mind it occurs to him that the leftist is clearly _very_ experienced; he’s always wondered what those anarchists get up to in their basement, and it wouldn’t surprise him if they were just fucking each other this whole time. He really hopes Ancom doesn’t have any diseases. 

_“God,”_ he mutters, feeling Ancom’s lips mouth around his cock before Nazi shoves his head forward, forcing him down to the hilt. “That’s it. Take it, you fucking bitch...take it all,” he huffs, thrusting into Ancom’s mouth, feeling the anarchist’s throat tense and gag around him. He looks down, vaguely curious as to whether or not Ancom was running out of air, and noticed to his disgust one of Ancom’s hands tucked under his skirt, his arm jerking back and forth - _god, he was getting off on this._ And knowing that Ancom is getting off on this, in turn, gets Nazi off - somehow this blatant display of pure degenerate filth makes his cock throb painfully, especially as Ancom looks up at him with far-away eyes before they roll back into the leftist’s skull. 

Nazi relents, dragging Ancom off his cock. Ancom gags loudly, drool dripping from his reddened mouth, still jerking himself off. 

“Fuck. You stupid f-fucking fag.” Nazi pulls Ancom foward again, slipping his cock into the anarchist’s gaping mouth only to let it slip back out again. “You little leftie bitch. You fucking soyboy cuck…” he pants, watching transfixed as Ancom licks another stripe down his erection. “You’re fucking disgusting. You’re _nothing_.” He hooks a finger into Ancom’s mouth. Ancom starts to suck, obedient. “Jesus Christ.” 

“Crush me with the state,” Ancom mumbles. “Put me in my place.” 

Nazi swallows hard. “Beg.” 

“Please.” Ancom seems to consider Nazi for a moment, spitting out his finger before turning his attention back to his cock. “Sir?” 

Hearing Ancom’s stupid whiny voice say _that_ sends another jolt of pleasure through Nazi that lands squarely in the pit of his stomach. Nazi nods. “That’s right. You degenerate scum. Address me with the respect I deserve.” 

“Please fuck my mouth, sir,” Ancom mumbles, pressing his lips on the tip of Nazi’s cock. “Please pump your superior Aryan cum down my sad faggot throat.” It takes a lot for him to side the smile creeping across his lips - it was just so ridiculous, entertaining Nazi’s delusions of grandeur like this, but god was it fun. 

_“God,”_ Nazi huffs, and soon Ancom’s mouth is once again filled with most of the authoritarian’s length. Nazi shoves the anarchist back and forth, relishing the feeling of his dick entering that warm tight wetness. It couldn’t be _that_ different from a woman’s mouth, he reasoned. It’s not like his body knew the difference. “Fucking cumslut. Useless fucking whore. You’re nothing but my slave. My f-fucktoy.” He grins, picking up his pace. He can feel Ancom whining around him, those pretty green eyes looking up, oh-so desperate. “If only I knew you stupid fucking anarchists actually were _useful_ for something. I’d bring you to my men and let them take turns using you. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Being _publicly owned._ ”

Nazi is thrusting forward so hard now that he hears Ancom’s head slam against the wall with every movement of his hips. The sounds are perverted, awful - the constant _thunk thunk thunk_ , Ancom’s muffled moans and whimpers and gags, the wetness as the leftist drools dumbly around him, his own heavy breathing mixing with the roar of his heartbeat in his ears. It’s too much. 

He feels the first spirts of cum begin to fill Ancom’s mouth and he loses it, groaning as he frees his cock and defiles the anarchist, his mind flashing back to the endless lonely nights of porn videos where the sex act ends like this. He watches as Ancom looks up at him, wantonly moaning with his cum in his mouth as Nazi coats his face. Ancom was _clearly_ the “woman”. This was proper. It was how the _woman_ ought to be treated - put in her place, dominated. Owned. 

“Fuck your social justice bullshit…” Nazi mumbles, jerking off the last few drops of cum from his cock. “Your mouth is good for one thing, and that’s pleasing real Aryan men. Fuck.” 

Spent, Nazi leans his head against the wall to catch his breath before sliding down to the floor, sitting with his eyes closed. When he opens them again Ancom is wiping off his face with his hoodie. Nazi grimaces. 

“I get the feeling this isn’t the first time you’ve used that as a cumrag,” he mutters. 

Ancom shrugs. “I wash it. It’s fine.” He throws the hoodie to the floor, though some of Nazi’s cum is still stuck in his hair. He’s a mess - face red, lips puffy, eyes glazed-over. Completely wrecked - though Nazi’s sure he doesn’t look much better. 

Ah, that reminds him- 

“Did you…?” 

Ancom nods, adjusting his skirt. “Yeah. Uh. It’s probably in the carpet.” Nazi rolls his eyes. 

“Again, I bet it’s not the first time.” 

“I’m gonna clean it up! This is a communal space, it’s only fair.” Ancom stands up, shrugging. Nonchalant. 

Reality doesn’t really hit Nazi until he watches Ancom walk out of the room, hoodie bunched up in his arms. Nazi looks down at himself - at his untucked shirt, his unbuttoned pants. His dick is still hanging out; flushing in embarrassment, he fixes himself, zipping up his pants right as Ancom comes back into the room with some cleaning supplies. 

He watches the anarchist clean up the living room in silence, thinking. 

“You’re...not going to tell anyone about this, are you?” he mumbles. Ancom looks up at him. 

“I won’t make it a big deal if you don’t. You’re not the only person whose comrades would kill you if they knew about...this.” Ancom shudders, scrubbing at the spot in the carpet with a sponge. He remembers Anqueer telling him about killing Anfem, how easy he let the words fall off his lips. He thinks of Insurrectionary Anarchist’s crowbar. He shakes his head, looking back up at the fascist. “I’m cool with keeping this between us.” 

Nazi nods gravely. 

It didn’t have to be anything at all. 


End file.
